Playing the Roulette
by Canopy4
Summary: Mr. Ishida attempts to strenghten his relationships with Yamato and Takeru. It's a pity they aren't interested in doing the same. From Mr. Ishida's POV


Title Playing the Roulette/title

Title Playing the Roulette/title

This fic announces my return to the world of fanfiction. I've been writing in solitaire for about...three months now and I have produced some great stories. So this is the first I'm going to put up. This was one of the hardest challenges I've ever done because I had to get inside the mind of a male and a parent. Also, don't expect a lot of flowing language because that's not Malcolm Ishida's character(does anybody know his Japanese name?). And finally, this fic was meant to be a jarring one so please tell me if it is or what is preventing it from being one. Thanks. 

I'm going to dedicate this to my dad. Even though you will never read this story and you couldn't give a shit about my life and what I do, you gave me the inspiration for this story.

*****

Only when Mars and Jupiter become aligned are my sons united. I suppose today's one of those days; I've never understood astrology. At any rate, Takeru's paying a visit to Yamato and me this evening and spending the weekend with us.

I'm a bit distant with my sons. Today at breakfast, I noticed something different about Yamato. He seemed content with life. No thoughtful lines creased his forehead and I saw him devour a normal about of food without the scowl typically affixed to his face. I even found the energy to wash a few articles of clothing. That almost never happens but Yamato is eternally grateful when it does occur. Everybody agrees that Takeru brings out the best in people. 

Excitement mounds in me while I tidy up my room before my son's arrival. It's just a habit of mine, keeping things in my life in neat compartments. If things get too messy or confusing, I just throw them away. Organization is such an important skill in such a cutthroat, busy world. I wish my kids would learn this, but they take no heed to what I say.

Takeru is one of the few bright spots in his brother's seemingly gray life. That damn music is another interest of his. Right now, Yamato is not doubt in his room, fiddling with that red and white instrument of his. I have no clue as to where my son got this talent. Definitely not me. Not his mother either. Unless she was hiding something from me for six years of marriage. It's possible. 

There's a knock on the door. In response, Yamato puts down this sleek base guitar and giddily races into the living room. The slapping of the soles of his feet on the linoleum tiles cease for a moment and then resume at a slower pace. Obviously, Yamato doesn't want to let to anyone how excited he is. 

"Hey bro, what's up?" I hear Yamato cheerfully say.

The door closes. The faint timbre of fabrics touching and weight shifting tell me my sons are hugging.

"Oniichan! I have to take off my shoes," laughs Takeru.

"Are you hungry?" asks Yamato

"Starved." The blonde brothers continue their conversation in the kitchen. Sinking into my bed, I try to gain some control of my reeling mind.

Takeru. My boy. No longer a baby. That voice, so deep and mature, is his. His laughter, optimistic and bright, is reserved for Yamato only. I can't believe how much he's matured. Takeru was so small and vulnerable four years ago. Now he's grown at least three feet and no longer does he need others to help. 

A pot drops on the floor and a wooden spoon slaps somebody in the back.

"Leave the cooking to me. You could have hurt yourself," gently scolds Yamato.

"But oniichan, I wannna help. You didn't have to clobber me," protest Takeru stubbornly.

"Yes I did. I'm supposed to be setting a good example. Next time ask first," says Yamato. He is chuckling slightly.

Typical that Yamato would refuse help. That boy has built up an impenetrable fortress around himself and he sends out a barrage of cold stares and sarcastic comments to anybody who tries to get through it. Yamato has it made. I envy his sense of privacy and the aura he projects out to rest of the world.

I doubt he admires me however. Our relationship can only be described as strained. I guess I wasn't the best parent when Yamato was younger. It's difficult juggling work around the duties of fatherhood as well as motherhood. When I tried to reach out to Yamato, he didn't extent his hand. Yamato had already learned how to live without me. If anything, Yamato went out of his way to live without me. His jarring music is simply an attempt to annoy me and avoid life. That stung when I first realized the painful truth. Since then, it has become a numbing pain. I've learned to life with it and the pain only becomes inflamed when I hear Yamato playing his guitar, singing, talking, or whenever I look at him. 

"Jeez Yama that smells great. But you cooked a lot."

"Enough for three people." comes the brisk reply.

That's my cue. I shuffle out of my dark bedroom towards the kitchen.

"Hey," greets Takeru.

"Hey sport," I say. "How are you?"

" I'm 'kay" he responds. I can't help but smiling. I struggle the urge to rub the blonde mop

Yamato enters the kitchen area with two piping hot entrées. Putting one plate in front of me, he looks slowly from the plate to me.

"I guess you're eating now. Here" He hands me his own plate and returns to the kitchen area to dish himself another plate. He returns in a few moments. When Yamato is finally settles down, he looks at us expectantly. Takeru and I immediately take a few bites of Yamato's current culinary masterpiece. 

"Yummy!" exclaims Takeru. I nod my head in approval.

Yamato smiles and slowly starts eating. 

There is a thick silence that cloaks us while we devour our meals. Yamato's stiff body moves mechanically, bringing the fork to the mouth. Takeru's eyes deftly dart around the room, searching for a safe place to rest on. Behind those eyes are a secret. The only sound comes from the harsh cold, plastic utensils banging against the flimsy paper plates.

We are three men that compose our own family. I barely know anything about these gentlemen. There must be some way to connect with these two individuals that I am dining with. I was fascinated with girls and female body when I was in high school. Takeru is what, 14? 15? Either way, his maturity ages him five years.

"Takeru, how's your girlfriend?" I ask innocently. The question suddenly popped out of my mouth. I wasn't even sure if Takeru had a special girl. 

Rooted to his chair, Takeru was replaced with a granite statue. His fork, loaded with food, froze in midair. Time stood still.

Judging by his reaction, I suppose I was correct about his blossoming love life.

Takeru clears his throat. "She's great. Hikari's doing fine." I nod in response.

"What about you Yamato?" I ask chirpily. Who knows, maybe I'll go two for two and actually converse with my family tonight.

"Classified," comes the curt, firm reply.

I expected as much.

"So how long have you and Hakaichi been seeing each other?" I ask Takeru, giving him my full attention.

"Hikari"

"Excuse me?"

"Her name is Hikari."

"Well, how long have you and HIKARI been seeing each other?" I question, emphasizing the important words.

"63 days"

I pause. Takeru's immediate and precise answer troubles me. He's serious about this girl and everything concerning her. That's never a good sign. If you don't take care of your heard, it will get broken. Only when you hold onto in and guard it does the heart remain in tact. 

"T.K." I begin.

"Takeru."

"Takeru, it's difficult to be a mature and reliable boyfriend when you have other activities going on. Take a look at your life. You have basketball and your job as well as schoolwork. And schoolwork comes first. Your activities come next. Girlfriends and friends come last."

Takeru frowns. "What about family?"

"Whenever you can fit them in. They're important, but you come first."

"Okay. Gotcha." I'm not convinced that he understands.

Just one question Dad," says Yamato slowly. His coy manner is powerful and foreboding. "Takeru has basketball as his excuse for not being able to deal with the pressures of a relationship. What's yours?"

I am naked in these situations. There is only one person I know who can craftily maneuver out of these situations. Borrowing one of his responses, I call out, "Classified"

"Oh, how witty."

I stand up, desperate to take control. I don't like where this is going.

Shuffling over to the oven, I open the pot.

"Don't even bother," says my cynical son without looking up. "The pot's empty." Hie intesnely stares at the pot and then at myself ."

"Yamato. You are on my house. I am an adult. You will respect me."

An amused snort of defiance comes from Yamato.

"Guess I better start looking for my own place then," says the rude blonde.

Takeru laughs in amusement. "I'll help you look for someplace when I'm in France."

Yamato snaps his head up in surprise. "When are you going to France?"

"Next month. I'm going to stay with Grandpa for three, maybe four weeks. It's going to be great."

"Man, that would be awesome. You and Mom are going to have a great time. That is, if you can catch Mom between shopping, exercising, catching the latest scoop about French scandal or whatever else she does."

Takeru laughs appreciatively. "That's Mom for you; always on the go," he continues warmly. "I've watched fly in and out of doors and meetings so much, I probably won't miss it when I go to Paris. Of course, I'll say otherwise when I call her."

Peering at his brother through thick goldenrod strands, Yamato sucked in his emotions.

"You're going to Paris by yourself for a month?" Takeru nods

"Why is my younger brother allowed to have more freedom than I do? He doesn't have to live in a tiny cell or have a parole officer for a father," he spitefully seethes

"Cause I'm Da Man?" 

This is met with a harsh snort.

"Jeez Yamato, I was just joking. Listen, why don't you come with me? You haven't seen Grandpa in ages and I'm sure Mom can pay for you plane ticket.

And just like that, Yamato was tamed. He retracted his claws and beamed with happiness and pride.

"Man, that's awesome! I've always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower."

Takeru smiles. "Forget the Eiffel Tower. You've gotta see the Palace. And I guess you'd be interested in Younghet Quarters, this awesome music recording place. But wait until you see the girls France ahs to offer."

Yamato responds with a grin. "I don't know, what would Hikari say?"

"Look, she has Daisuke drooling on her all the time in Odaiba. What's a little fun with Catherine for three weeks?"

"Catherine? That blonde girl?"

"The one and only."

"Does she have a older sister?"

"Just a minute boys," I interrupt. "You shouldn't be inviting people without checking with an adult T.K."

"Takeru."

"Yamato, I never gave you permission to go to France. "

"I never asked for your permission, did I? I want nothing to do with it."

"Dammit Yamato, I'm getting sick of your smart alek responses. I though I raised my children better than that."

Bowing his head gracefully, Takeru responds. "It's pretty hard to raise a child you never wanted when he was younger."

I sigh. "Takeru, you're old enough to understand the situation." Rubbing my throbbing temples, I continue. "I'm not in the mood of this. Any of this."

Icicles crackle as cold blue stares into a mirror. An uncomfortable momentum and painful sensation fills the room as the two exchange secret glances. Without warning, those blue lightening bolts strike upon me. 

Uncomfortably, I shift under these harsh lights. I'm going to regret those words

"So you're not in the mood for any of this Father. Believe me, I understand. I'm not in the mood for you or anything relating to you. I don't know where you think you can get off trying to dictate every action in my life; don't give me that 'I'm an adult' shit either. That's the weakest excuse I've ever heard. But then again, it suits you. You are a weak person. You're disgusting. I can't stand--"

A hand, steady and powerful, wraps around Yamato's hand and ends his cruel, ungrateful barrage. 

Takeru. The owner of that hand, bright and powerful. Slowly, he lifts his head and stares across the table to his brother. Icicles crackle as cold blue stares into a mirror. An uncomfortable momentum and painful sensation fills the room as the two exchange secret glances.

Without warning, The Mature One turns to me.

Painfully, I shift under these harsh lights.

"I know you're busy and you don't want much to do with your sons. Just answer me this." His voice is cool and unwavering; but with every word, I sense the pain and my heart slowly rips. "What happened between you and Mom? Were you not in the mood to be married anymore, to share yourself? Were you not in the mood to try to work through your problems with Mom? Or were you not in the mood to love?

Breathing in this room filled with a hot hate is in vain. Think of an excuse, anything. Any answer. Just a simple explanation will do.

Takeru's eyes are fixed on mine, never breaking. 

"I don't have time for this. I have to get to work." Why, why did I say that? Hastily, I grab my coat as well as some loose papers and charge out the door. While shutting the door, a sniped of dialogue flows into my ears.

"Bastard." 

"Shh. It's okay Yamato. It's the same man who expects others to work their families in whenever they can. I guess he doesn't have time for us."

No time for my own flesh and blood? Hardly. Stumbling into the elevator, the metal door closes and I lean my head against the cool metal. 

It's even more amusing that I can't express my feelings. I can't laugh, I can't admit when I'm sorry.

I can't say I love somebody.

I want to march back in there and say, "Hey guys, don't hate me! It's not my fault! Do you remember when I changed your diapers and we used to play catch? I know I wasn't always there for you. So let's start over."

Impossible. They would laugh at me.

A tiny path is made on my face stained with sweat and dirt. For once I cry for myself instead of everybody else.

~The End~

So how jarring was this?


End file.
